DAYS
by Astrid Goes For A Spin
Summary: Camicazi's lived through many many days - four thousand and thirty-two, in fact, but only a few Days actually MEAN something. And, of course, there's THAT Day. The Day that changed everything, life as she knew it, and the whole WORLD. It was the beginning and the end all at once - THAT Day was the day she met Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third.


**Since we've already agreed I have no right to publish anything new, I'm going to skip the apology and go right to the information about this story.**

**I've been in a Camicazi-ish mood lately, largely due to a person I know who is remarkably similar to Camicazi in nearly all ways. Height, hair color, energy, athleticism, ceaseless chatter and loud volume. It's a little frightening, in truth. **

**And so I was doing the calculations for the DAYS of this fic. I'd decided on May Day for Camicazi's birthday (explanation forthwith) and when I went to check the calendar to count, I realized _today _was, in fact, May Day, and that I'd better get it up before midnight. **

**Bookverse. Because Camicazi is shockingly underrepresented. She needs the love. Although I hope all you movie-watchers enjoy it as well. :)**

* * *

There was an enormous, _nearly _innumerable number of days in Camicazi's life. (In fact, on THAT Day, she was exactly four thousand and thirty-two days old.) But there were only a limited number of _Days_. There was, obviously, the Day she was born, the Day she'd gotten her sword, the Day she'd broken her arm, and the Day she'd knocked out her first tooth.

Her birthdays were often Days. But for her eleventh May-Day birthday (as Bertha put it, she was the first divine wind of the spring,) the accompanying Day came four days later.

She was kidnapped by Romans.

Childishly, foolishly, she'd swallowed the Hooligan disguise. The three men that kidnapped her had _no_ manners at all and didn't even give her a chance to give them a good fight. They'd grabbed her, stuffed her in a sack, and kindly took her sword as well. _This_ should have been the first hint that something went wrong. How often do even _Hooligans_ bring their captive's weapons?

By the time she'd arrived at Fort Sinister, she was _boiling._ When she was dumped out on the floor in front of _men_ in _togas,_ she'd known she was through. The kidnappers weren't Hooligans, she fumed, they were _ROMANS._ She'd never met a Hooligan, but she was sure they couldn't be much better. She hated both on principle.

She spent nine days alone in the tower with only the soldier who brought the food three times a day for human contact – and he never stayed long. She didn't even have a dragon for company. She spent three of those days refining her swordfighting (slashing the walls to bits in the process), one singing to herself (because there's only so many times a girl can sing the Bog-Burglar National Anthem), and the last five practicing her cartwheels (sometimes with her sword and incorporating her moves.) By the tenth day, her shoulders had toughened up again and she was feeling pleasantly supple and limber. And bored.

Camicazi hadn't even thought about escaping yet; she didn't know any of their secret plans (the food soldier was unpleasantly tight-lipped about _everything)_ and if they weren't going to _do_ anything with her, then she wasn't going to make it fun for them and escape.

_Boys._ They just got _worse,_ Camicazi theorized, when they became men.

Not that she'd actually…_met_ any boys. The closest she'd seen was a little boy who'd been born to one of her mother's lieutenants, then swiftly sent to the father. She'd wrinkled her nose and pronounced him boring, and never gave much thought about it.

THAT Day was the beginning of something. THAT Day, that tenth day of her imprisonment at Fort Sinister, was the beginning of many things.

THAT Day was the day her life changed forever.

THAT was the Day she met Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third.

.

Kidnappers dressed as women dropped the first two boys Camicazi had ever seen into her cell. _They_ were _obviously_ supposed to be Bog Burglars, as anyone who has ever visited the Inner Isles will know.

Camicazi had just turned upright from her six thousandth and forty-seventh cartwheel and watched in amazement at the two.

One was tall with a strangely shaped face, eyes so squinty she could barely see them, and fragile-looking spectacles. The other was shorter and much better looking, with unbelievably bright red hair poking out from beneath his helmet. They were both, to her annoyance, _older_ than her.

"Who are _you_?_" _she'd asked, whipping out her sword. "What are your names? Who sent you? Where do you come from?" Maybe her nine days of solitude had done her in a little. Camicazi wasn't _nervous – _Bog-Burglars never get nervous – but she wasn't too pleased at the idea of more _males._ _Especially_ in her own cell.

"My name is Hiccup," said the short one. "And this is Fishlegs – we're Hooligans…"

"I don't believe you," Camicazi yelled. Really, she'd never been so curious in her entire life, but she was also dreadfully bored, and these two were fair game. They _were,_ of course, in _her_ cell. "You're Roman spies!" she accused. "Draw your swords and fight like _men,_ you Latin lowlifes!"

To her frustration, the two of them just looked at each other. They'd been nabbed from the same tribe, she supposed. They were _both_ properly too weird to be allowed. All the other girls on _her_ island were big and burly and strong.

The tall one laughed. Quick as a flash, Camicazi lunged and slashed through his belt. "Hey! Watch what you're doing with that sword!"

Camicazi didn't dignify that obviously non-combative statement with a response. Couldn't they see she was just having a little _fun?_ Did boys ruin _everything?_ No _wonder_ there were none at home.

She dashed for the short one, screaming. To her surprise, he drew a blade (at this point, she wouldn't have been surprised if that scabbard was _hollow)_ at the last second and engaged her.

He was a _leftie._

Camicazi nearly dropped her sword in shock and turned a cartwheel to cover her excitement. "_Fight,_ you nano-eating, locust-baking, toga-wearing Jupiter-worshipper! Oooh, you're actually quite _good _at this-" And indeed he was. Barely breaking a sweat, the boy ducked and parried every single strike. He held the sword lightly, with admirable ease, despite it being frightfully old and a little too big for him. "For a b_oy._ I've been getting _so_ bored, you have no idea…"

"Can't we just have a quiet talk about this?" The boy was short of breath, though. _Probably nerves,_ thought Camicazi. It seemed to really fray those who fought her.

"I see you know the _Grimbeard's Grapple, _and the _Flashcut Lunge, _and the _Deathwatch Parry-_" she lauded him, twirled her hilt and sliced off the boy's sleeve. "And the-"

"Will you _stop_," cried the boy. "My name really _is_ Hiccup," he insisted, "And I really _am_ a Hooligan…"

"I don't believe you," Camicazi returned, doing a backbend and illustrating her point with her sword. "You're a Roman _spy!_ Admit it, or I will _unzip_ you from your _breadbasket_ to your _oystergobbler!" _Careful not to cut all the threads of his clothing, Camicazi pulled her sword from his stomach to chin. He gasped.

"_Oooooooh,_ your defense is a bit _weak, _you know, you should really _work_ on that…" Indeed it was. But, Camicazi supposed, he didn't want to _hurt _her. "Otherwise, a person (meaning herself, of course) could just _nip _through – and…"

Camicazi drew her blade all the way from his wrist to shoulder, the second sleeve falling limp around his arm. "Woops," she laughed. "There goes the _other_ one!" And with a quick turn, she pushed him against the wall.

"_I – am – not – a – Roman,"_ choked the boy in a half-shout, his helmet tilting and eyes wild.

Camicazi stopped. What a _boy. _Didn't they understand she'd been here for _nine days?_ "Well, a Hooligan isn't much better," she said primly. "My mother says the only good Hooligan is a dead Hooligan."

"That's funny," the boy responded immediately. "Because _my father_ says that the only good Bog-Burglar is a dead Bog-Burglar – and the _really_ amusing thing is, unless we join together, in about two weeks' time, we are _both_ going to be _very good_, and _very dead._"

He _knew_ something. She knew he knew. And somehow, this longish and obviously thought-out speech wasn't horribly geeky or nerdy. It was actually _clever._

"Oh, _bother."_ Camicazi blew out her breath and looked around at Hiccup. "I was really looking _forward_ to spilling some blood."

He gulped. She grinned, then continued loftily, "You know, you're not a _bad_ swordfighter, actually, for a boy, of course…"

"Thanks," gasped Hiccup in a tone she was sure she'd come to recognize as flattered. Camicazi stuck out her hand. "My name's _Camicazi_, the Heir to the Bog-Burglars. Nice to meet you. What are _you-_" she enunciated with all the contempt and spite she'd always heard her mother speak with when of Hooligans, "doing here, anyway?"

Hiccup blinked. "We got kidnapped just like you. And we're also," he added hurriedly, "looking for a dragon that I've lost. He's about…" Hiccup held his hands a few inches apart, "so high, green eyes, a Common-or-Garden…"

"Oh, yes," said Camicazi, nodding as if she knew what he was talking about. "The soldier who brings the food _told_ me about _him,_" she lied. "He bit the Prefect on the nose when they brought him in!" she bluffed.

"Good old Toothless," said Hiccup, not even mildly surprised. _Toothless? _A pathetic name for a pathetic dragon for a pathetic _Hooligan boy._

"The Prefect really doesn't like _him,_" Camicazi added. Hiccup just looked resigned. "Yes, I know," he sighed. "Toothless once did a poo in his helmet, and a Treacherous never forgives."

"They've put him in Level Seven, Top Security," Camicazi continued. _This _got a reaction. "Oh, poor, _poor_ Toothless," moaned Hiccup. "I can't bear to think of him being trapped. He hates small spaces – he can't even go down rabbit holes, despite rabbit being his favorite food; he stays at the entrance shrieking his head off-" Camicazi was too amused by this anecdote to say, and was fiercely anticipating seeing the little beast. She'd slice off anyone at the wrists who stood in her way.

The door opened. Camicazi, quite beginning to feel that her nice and homey cell had been turned into a harbor, turned and saw a soldier speak to Hiccup in a nasty string of Latin consonants that he didn't even blink at and threw something hard and green at him, hitting him right in the stomach and knocking him down.

Camicazi leaned over and saw a little dragon unfurling itself, making annoyed hissing noises. To her very great and eternal astonishment, Hiccup gleefully grabbed up the tiny little thing and responded with the same kind of noise, clacking his teeth and whistling. Her first thought was that he was _speaking _to it. But of course, dragons couldn't speak, and anyone who thought they could was a fool. Perhaps Hiccup just _thought_ he could speak to it.

Toothless – she supposed it _had _to be him, no one else on the _Earth _could have a dragon that tiny except Hiccup – put his little scaly arms right around Hiccup's neck and licked his face up and down.

Fishlegs and Camicazi exchanged disgusted looks. She poked her tongue out. He twitched his eye. Suddenly, they were laughing, and Hiccup turned around to see them without quite understanding what the joke was. He put Toothless on his shoulder and stood up, and Camicazi gave him a good hard whack on the back, girl style. He winced and coughed a little and gave her a smile.

Camicazi wasn't aware of it yet. But THAT Day would be the beginning of everything.


End file.
